I Wish You Well
by The Huntress1
Summary: Based on "Justice League: The New Frontier," the one-shot companion to Darwyn Cooke's miniseries. A brief talk between Batman and Catwoman regarding their mutual affection and regrets. Takes place after Superman's "defeat" at the hands of Batman.


**Disclaimer: I'm an unabashed Darwyn Cooke fan and his companion piece, "Justice League: The New Frontier" was right up my alley. I didn't weigh this down with too much plot specific points, (I will say that Superman was charged with apprehending Batman and this takes place after the artful defeat), preferring instead to muddle through Batman and Catwoman's relationship as it was alluded to (however subtle) in the comic. Clearly they didn't just stumble over the knowledge of one another's alter egos and as this is pre-Crisis continuity, Silver age stuff; I had a lot of free reign, though the allusion to the crane was Golden age. The title is taken from Sinatra's song, which, along with "Put Your Dreams Away," carried this story. There are small twinges of "The Barefoot Contessa" staring Ava Gardner, but they're just that, small. Alright. I don't know how this will read, I'm just grateful if it's in any way decipherable.**

*Gotham City, 1955*

He sat on the cornice. He imagined, in pulp novels and dime store serials, that after an action filled night, the detective probably struck a match and started a cigarette. Contemplation and what not. He didn't smoke. He only pretended to drink.

He draped his arms over his knees and felt the weak strains of sunlight beginning to filter through the city. The morning papers would be out soon, hauled off the backs of trucks, slapped onto curbs and doorsteps and devoured between bites of donuts and coffee or maybe corn flakes. They'd use a jazzy headline, something really eye catching, something that told the whole truth…and yet…

Above the fold, in granular black and white, the Batman beat Superman. Stunned him with a few smoke bombs and pyrotechnics, pizzazz and showmanship. He was used to the theatrics. But even this, for him, was more than a little wiggy.

He looked up and gave an inward sigh of relief, "You're not as quiet as you think."

She sat calmly next to him, the periwinkle length of her costume giving him more than enough comfort in sight alone. Her hand settled next to his and she leaned in his direction but didn't touch him, "Glad to see you're not pushing up daisies…not yet anyhow."

"You doubted me?"

She smirked and he did the same, "Maybe not you, but certainly him…there's something obscene about him…that much power, but he wants to be a good boy. Or something…"

"The same could be said for me."

She shook her head, "You're not a good boy," then she finally turned and brushed her lips against the side of his cowl, enjoying the faint heat gathering along his skin, "Not with me anyhow."

He looked down and she felt him stiffen slightly, still hurt after all of these many months, "I don't know what will happen now, but I…I'm grateful. What we've had was wonderful in its way, but I understand why you left."

She was surprised by his admission and a little saddened, "That was before I knew."

He shook his head, "It hasn't changed. Even now. You said I'm too far gone. Smashing that hoodlum's face with the crane hook or breaking that cultist's wrists…a means to an end. That I'm going crazy, too crazy for my own good. Desperate, reckless, what have you. I won't argue with you, even now that you know the truth about me."

She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, wanting very much to shush him, to reassure him. She offered a little, having already resolved not to go back to him or that hurting fear, not yet, "I knew and loved Bruce. But he is what you've made him. A dummy, a doll, an empty-headed, red-blooded, twentieth-century SOB. And I've loved you. Desperate, reckless, what have you…and I still do. That's why I raided Luthor's safe, to help you put the big blue boy scout on ice, at least for a little while. I need you around just as much as Gotham does. I couldn't let him take you away…you might even say, good cheer notwithstanding, that I was desperate too."

His voice was lifeless, "And the big finish…?"

She smiled, still sad, knowing it was true, "Maybe ol' blue rang your bell harder than I thought…you're getting cute with me."

He didn't return the show of amusement and she reached up, using her thumb to wipe away some of the dried blood trailed down his chin, taking in the little cuts and bruises here and there. Never afraid of getting hurt, of being killed…that was too much, "It must be pretty hard for you to breathe. Perhaps you ought to stay in town today, sleep, eat."

He gave a curt motion with his head, "I appreciate the offer. God knows. But…I think we've had enough. No use carrying on. Alfred patched me up; I'll get through the day."

She frowned but wasn't angry, "And tonight?"

He made a face before looking away, "I'm not one for mush, you said so—in jest. But I do understand, it's probably best that we part ways for now. You've given me quite a bit. And as you've put it once or twice, between the three of us, Gotham always wins."

She gave a little laugh, surprised and even a little embarrassed, "I was referring to your nightlife. The starlets, the photographers…your insatiable taste for the gossip pages. You weren't anything like that caricature in the columns, wash room gossip…I was wrong and I was right."

He shook his head; daybreak was always a disappointment, "Are you leaving soon?"

She nodded, "A week or two. See a bit more of the country, the world. Wanderlust."

"Anyone in tow?"

"Wildcat's interested."

Bruce grimaced, "Alright."

She grinned despite herself, "You're not getting weepy on me pussycat?"

He took a little longer to stand than she would have liked and braced his side, "I couldn't ask you to do anything I wouldn't."

She stood and briefly caressed his cheek, "No hard feelings?"

He seemed to argue with himself for a moment before pecking her forehead. His stubble tickled and a buzz lingered at the place. He whispered, "Wherever you're headed, I wish you well."

She nodded, "I'll write now and then."

He fingered her chin, cute, "You don't have to, I'm sure Bruce will cross your path once or twice."

She grasped his chin and kissed him fully, tasting iron and salt, "I'll be back darling. Try to be a good boy while I'm gone, hm?"

He made another face, amused, "With you? Never."

She gave him a final kiss on the chin, "One last hurrah Brucie, Seven o'clock, Thursday, the Strand. You promise?"

All at once he saw her. Sunning on his yacht, angry after an argument, silent and sleeping. Bare. In purple. Always beautiful. And he saw her toss the Kryptonite into his palm, she didn't have to. And yet she said she had to.

He nodded, "I wouldn't…I couldn't miss it."

She smiled, "And Gotham?"

"She'll wait up for me. She always does."

Cute.


End file.
